


Slick - Johnlock fic

by orphan_account



Category: DC - Fandom, Doctor Who BBC, Ect - Fandom, Marvel, Merlin BBC, Sherlock BBC
Genre: Lots of references to other fandoms, Multi, greaser!AU, highschool!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6061975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems unlikely, doesn't it, that a bad boy and a goodie-two-shoes could interact with each other without one of them murdering the other.</p><p>Well, opposites attract.</p><p>Lots of references</p><p>Lots</p><p>Greaser!au highschool!au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hand gliding across the paper, John's eyebrows furrow in concentration, he just needed to finish this assessment-

"Mail is here John!" Mrs Hudson calls up through the floorboards, "You have a letter from the school, you should probably come and get it."

Groaning, John calls back, "Alright! Coming!" and stands up, walking to the door glumly, dragging his feet and making an extra fuss for the poor lady who took him and his sister in. Mrs Hudson makes a disapproving noise, and John quickly rushes down the stairs, "Alright! Coming!"

Bounding into the living room, John takes the letter from Mrs Hudson, "Thanks miss!" and opens it apprehensively, not sure if the letter would bear good or bad news.

Turns out to be good news, as usual. John grins, jumping slightly with excitement, "I've been accepted into the Science club! It says it's on after school!"

Mrs Hudson laughs, "That's great, I'm proud of you!"

Blushing, John rolls his eyes, "It's just a club..." he turns away from Mrs Hudson, and chuckles lowly, "Honestly, it's not that big a deal," but Mrs Hudson continues celebrating.

A sigh escapes John, and he looks out the window at his lonely car. A nice black one, with silver trims. The leather seats call to him, and an urge starts in him, to clamber in the car and drive as fast as he can... But he turns his gaze away, forcibly to look at the fields out of his property. Anything to stop the urge.

"-Oh, I should make a cake to celebrate-!"

Why couldn't the world just stop talking!? John shakes his head to clear the thoughts, but a buzzing headache settles in. His hands tremble, beginning to itch, begging for the adrenaline rush, for the sound of his beautiful car rushing over the roads, why couldn't he stop this!?

A hand falls on his shoulder, making him jump, and clutch a hand to his chest. Silence is all he hears, he turns to Mrs Hudson.

Her lips move, but he doesn't hear a thing. She grabs his arm, shakes him, and screams, but John hears nothing. Nothing but a buzz in his burning ears. When did his vision start getting blurry?

Blackness engulfs him, as he drops like a stone to the floor, deaf to the screams of Mrs Hudson calling for help. It seems like his lungs are filling with water. He can't breathe in.

Mrs Hudson screams louder, and runs out the front door, hollering to high heavens that John has collapsed and can't breathe. Heads poke out their windows, including the head of a grumpy looking woman with bright red  hair, and vibrant greeny blue eyes, "WHAT THE BLOODY 'ELL IS GOIN' ON!!!???" she screams in a mild Scottish accent.

"Oh, Amy, Amy Pond," Mrs Hudson gasps, waving her hands frantically in the air, "Please, it's John! He's collapsed!!!"

Any gasps, "John, as in, my boyfriends friend John!?" she flings on a dressing gown, before rushing down the stairs and appearing in front of Mrs Hudson, "I'll get the doctor!"

Nodding, Mrs Hudson rushes back inside, kneeling next to John, trying hard not to burst into sobs, instead, picking up the phone, holding the receiver up to her ear and holding the microphone up to her mouth and dialling Harriet's friend, feeling tears building in her eyes.

It rings twelve times, before the person on the other side picks up. Mrs Hudson instantly screams into the phone, "IS HARRIET THERE!!!???"

A shriek sounds on the other side of the phone, "Whoa! Calm your tits, it's me Mrs Hudson! I'm on the phone! What's up!?"

On the very brink of tears, Mrs Hudson cries into the phone, "Your brother collapsed!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To da hospital!

_Cold hands holding his. Water pouring down his throat, delving into his lungs at the speed of a changing bull. Eyes flickering closed as he gets pulled further down._

_His thoughts are a jumbled mess, 'What is up? Where am I going? What's happening to me?'_

_He hears a distant sound of screaming, but the water is making it hard to hear._

_"...John..."_

_"John."_

_"John!"_

_"JOHN!!!"_

Jerking awake, John gasps loudly, eyes wide and fists clenching the sheets. Searching frantically, he hyperventilates loudly, voice coming out in sharp, shrill breaths, before Mrs Hudson places a hand on his arm.

They sit in silence, John's slowly evening breathing being the only noise that pierces the tranquillity between them. Mrs Hudson looks older than normal, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her face blotchy. Tear marks are prominent on her cheeks, and John feels a pang of guilt shake him.

The doctor walks in, and elderly man with crinkles around his eyes, his ginger hair is cut in a simple shave, complete buzzcut. He has the look of someone who has seen their loved ones die in a hospital, and his presence is ghostly in the room. He smiles, and the unease fades.

"John Watson, I presume?" the doctor asks, picking up a clipboard at the end of the bed, reading through it with trained blue eyes, "Now, have you ever been through traumatic incidents? Car crashes? Getting mugged? Rape?-just a question-Seeing someone get murdered?"

The picture on the wall of a vase of flowers suddenly becomes far more interesting to John, who feels his heart beat uncomfortably inside his chest, "What has this got to do with me fainting?" his breathing has returned to normal, but he reckons that if the doctor doesn't stop asking questions it's gonna fire back up again.

Pursing his lips slightly, the doctor pinches the bridge of his nose, "I'm only asking because when you collapsed it was from you having a panic attack," John feels his breath quicken just a bit, and he clenches his fists ever so slightly, as the doctor continues, "Now, sonny, we just want to find out what caused it, so we can avoid this ever happening again."

John feels his chest constrict, and his fists clench so tight his knuckles lose their colour, a choking feeling starts in the back of his throat. If he opens his mouth, he's going to go off his rocker.

However, the doctor continues pestering John, asking more and more questions, and he zones out, staring out the window, seeing a tall, slender man wearing a tight black leather jacket, hair pushed back, not gelled, with a slight curl to it. He is smoking, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette up to his mouth. The smoke floats up, twisting in the air-

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME MR WATSON!!!" the doctor shouts suddenly, snapping John out of his minor daze, and he turns his eyes back to the doctor, as he continues blabbing on questions that John refuses to answer.

Mrs Hudson squeezes John's hand tightly, "Do you want me to tell him John?" she asks softly, giving him a motherly look, "About the-"

"I thought we agreed to never talk about that," John quips, staring back out the window at the smoker, amiring the way he so easily lounges against the wall. This silent admiration is interrupted by the smoker finishing his cigarette, and by him walking away.

Damn. John stares back at the painting with a frown crossing his lips as Mrs Hudson continues giving him the sad look, "Sweetie, are you sure you don't want me to tell him?"

Slumping down slightly, John hisses, "Oh, what's the point of hiding it!? I'm a fucking adrenaline junkie. I drive so fast just to feel my life go into hyperdrive, but I can't drive because my friend crashed a car into a lake, drowning her, and nearly killing me in the process, as per fucking usual I got blamed for it, and I'm not allowed to go in a car if I show signs of wanting to speed!"

The doctor stands in stunned silence, and John swings his legs over the side of the bed, "Whoopty fucking do, can I go home now!?"

Nodding, the doctor waves to the door, "Y-yep, just try to keep the stress down, alright?" and John walks out, Mrs Hudson toddling along behind him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School is a bitch

"Wow, that's pretty intense!"

It had been a few days after John had collapsed, and now he's hanging out in his usual spot with one of his friends, a tall, geeky bloke named Bruce Banner. He'd just told him about the shouting at the doctor.

"Heh, I know, I feel pretty bad about it though, he shouldn't have asked such personal questions though," John sighs, leaning his head back against the wall, taking another bite out of his apple.

Shrugging, Bruce places a hand on John's shoulder, "Well, all you can do is continue moving and hold your head high, huh?" he earns a nod from a glum looking John.

Looking over the crowds of people, John suddenly gasps, "Hey, that guy was the person outside the hospital window smoking," Bruce raises an eyebrow.

Rolling his eyes, Bruce asks, "Were you eyefucking people again?" to receive a mortified look from John, as well as a blush.

"Of course not! I was just impressed at how he didn't give a fuck about the signs, and he even flipped off about twelve security guys."

Grinning, Bruce jabs him in the side, "Hmm, like the bad boys, eh?"

Giving Bruce an intense glare, John groans, "Trust me, I don't like him at all," he takes a final bite out of his apple, throwing the core in the bin, "Anyway, I'm off to the library, catch you later!"

Waving, Bruce shouts after him, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" and John rolls his eyes.

Walking through the corridors, John tugs on his plain grey shirt lightly, feeling a little out of place as he walks through the Greaser area.

They scowl at him as he passes by, and John lowers his head shamefully, but it was the only way to the library, and it was only a short walk. Quickening his pace, he hears a can fly over his head, and hears the insulting remarks about him.

'Don't blow up at them,' John tells himself, but he feels anger flare up, what made them so much more important than anybody else!? But he takes a deep breath, and continues walking, nearly bumping into someone, but jumping out of the way just in time, looking up into the eyes of the smoker from his hospital trip.

"Sorry, I'll just-" John jumps away, and continues walking, feeling as if he'd just been electrocuted, still feeling those piercing eyes scanning him from the growing distance between them.

His body shakes slightly, as if he'd just encountered a lion, rather than another bloody Greaser. Bowing his head further down, John quickens his pace, before arriving in front of the library.

Walking in, the smell of old and new books hits him, calming his quickened heart, and he grabs a history book, flicking through it until the bell rings.

Standing, John cracks his back and puts the book away, walking out of the library with his arms crossed over his chest, over to his locker to grab his biology book. Hearing a rustle behind him, John turns on the spot, nearly having his heart jump out of his chest as the Greaser from before stands in front of him. His breath brushes against John's nose.

Nearly choking on his own breath, John asks quietly, "Umm, what are you doing?" and nearly jumps out of his skin as the man reaches out a hand, grimacing slightly.

"The teacher, Miss Jones, you know, dark skinned lady, told me to introduce myself to some people, who, I quote, 'are not Greasers'," he huffs, and John gingerly shakes his hand, as the Greaser continues, "I'm Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes."

Gulping, John releases his grip on Sherlock's hand, "I-I'm John Watson, are you new here?" he asks, trying not to seem like a complete arse, "Umm, what class do you have next?"

Frowning, Sherlock lounges against the locker next to John's, "Psh, I'm new here. I don't care though, I'll probably be kicked out again soon though. I have biology next."

Gulping, John asks quietly, "Wh-what room?" and Sherlock gives him a 'you're getting too far into my personal life' look, and John shrinks away a bit.

A sigh escapes Sherlock, and he shrugs, "Room 32, it's not like I'm going though, screw class, I'll just go out back and do some smoking," and John gives him a look.

"I'm in room 32 for biology as well, I don't think you should go about skipping classes, they crack down hard at this school-" a scoff from Sherlock is heard, "-And I don't want to be a witness to anything."

A short chuckle escapes Sherlock, a cruel, soft laugh, "Oh, is the poor mama's boy afraid of getting into trouble?" his voice is simpery, mocking, and John suddenly feels an ice cold wave wash over him, as Sherlock continues mockingly, "Oh no, smoking is so bad, I'll get into-"

Before either of them realise something is happening, John's fist collides with Sherlock's jaw, and John storms off, fuming angrily, clutching his book to his chest and trying to shut out the danger signals going off in his mind.

It was like having an angel on one shoulder and a demon on the other. The angel is shaking his head, and telling John to apologise. The demon is laughing, and saying John should insult Sherlock. But John blocks them out, choosing instead to act as if nothing happened, and to get to biology.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More school

The teacher continues droning on about the names of muscles, and John continues taking notes, he'd arrived five minutes earlier, just in time for the lesson, thankfully, the teacher didn't mention it. A few students are staring glassy eyed at the windows, and the Greasers at the back are throwing paper balls.

Sighing, John quickly sketches the diagram that the teacher has drawn, and rubs his face tiredly. The door suddenly bursts open, and Sherlock walks through, rubbing his jaw absent-mindedly, 'Good,' John thinks to himself, 'I bloody well hope it hurt.'

The teacher groans, "Mr Holmes, tardy on your first day, not setting a good impression, take a seat next to Mr Watson, he's the-"

Sherlock cuts him off, "I know who he is sir, don't worry," and he slowly makes his way up until he's sitting next to John.

Gulping, John shifts himself away slightly, looking back down at his work, hands beginning to shake slightly, as Sherlock takes out his book, and starts taking notes, bored expression on his face.

Seeing that Sherlock is not going start making a fuss, John continues working, and ignores everyone else until a Greaser behind him throws a book and it hits John on the back of his head.

Nearly falling, John grips the desk, head spinning and vision blacking out for a few seconds, before snapping back to normal. His knuckles turn white as he restrains himself from lashing out.

Another book hits him, this time actually making him start slumping, until he shakes his head slightly, keeping himself just in conciousness, and feeling his anger flare up. But he can't lash out.

The lesson passes at an achingly slow pace, but when the bell rings, John is one of the last people in the room, left alone with the teacher and Sherlock. Sherlock is lingering at his desk, pretending to clean up something, so John starts walking out.

But before he can leave the classroom, the teacher calls out, "Mr Watson! Hold on," and John stops dead still, turning around slowly, and feeling apprehension sink into his bones.

"Yes professor Fury?" John queries, feeling his stomach twist as he tries not to look at the eyepatch over the professors eye. Nick steps closer, and gives John a sad look.

Before John can do anything to leave, Fury gives John a letter, "Open it when you're home. I'm sorry you're getting bullied, but there's only so much I can do, being dark skinned and all, it's lucky I'm even working here," he nods his head at John, "Don't feel you have to stay silent though kid, you have your entire life ahead of you."

Nodding, John tucks the letter into his pocket, "Alright sir, thankyou, but I'll be right, have a good day," and he quickly rushes out the door.

Realising that if he went to the next class, he'd probably explode with anger, he walks out the back of the school, and tucks himself behind the massive seats people watch school football games in. Massive concrete stairs so high that they could give you vertigo... Well, only really about three metres in the air, but whatever.

Reaching into his pocket, John pulls out a pack of green pills, and swallows them dry, feeling the headache fade away as the anxiety flushes out of his system, along with the anger. Just emptiness, an addictive emptiness.

Leaning his head back, John curses, before the drugs take full effect. Walking back into school, he grabs out his English book, and goes to class.

He gets there in time, thankfully, and sits down, completely carefree, and does his work, he sees Sherlock up the back, but he's just another blur in the crowd. In fact, everything is blurry, except for the board, so he just continues writing, and eventually the drug wears off.

The bell rings right as common sense kicks in, and he feels guilt ebb into his body, he told Mrs Hudson he'd stop taking them... But they're so addicting... Walking out of the class, John puts his stuff back in the locker, thankful that school is out, and starts walking home.

Footsteps thud behind him, and he turns around, seeing a ruffled looking Sherlock, "Hey."

"Hi," John responds, throat contracting slightly, "What's up?" they walk a bit more as Sherlock takes out a cigarette and starts smoking.

"I was bored," Sherlock finally replies, taking in a deep breath of the tobacco and chemicals, breathing it out in a stream of smoke, "And you looked bored, so I thought, 'why not'," he draws in another breath, as if it were the last drop of water on Earth, puffing it out in another swirl of smoke, "You want a cigarette?"

Quirking an eyebrow up, John replies, "Uh, I don't need one," and Sherlock studies him with hard eyes, taking in every detail, before holding out the pack anyway, so John politely takes one, "Thanks, you got a match?"

Shaking his head, Sherlock takes his cigarette out of his mouth, pressing the smouldering end to John's one, and taking another breath from it.

John draws on a breath, feeling the tobacco spread through his lungs, and the old addiction rises up, "Thanks, I appreciate it, I haven't really smoked for a while."

Curious, Sherlock turns his gaze to John, "Why not?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow and smoothing back his hair, "Did you get caught or some shit like that? Or run out of money?"

Shaking his head, John lets out a bitter laugh, a laugh that shakes his body and make his eyes water, as he takes in another deep breath from the cigarette, "Found something far more addicting, let's leave it at that, alright?" he continues smoking and walking in silence with Sherlock, before quickly adding, "I'm not giving you the drug I have either."

Laughing, Sherlock shakes his head, "I wouldn't take you for the drug addict type," and he licks his lips, finishing the cigarette and throwing it in the bin, "I mean, you look so innocent, and teachers-pet like, it's just odd."

Pulling out the empty pack of fluorescent green pills, John shows Sherlock the packet, "This makes you feel void of bad feelings for a while, but it doesn't make you happy."

Sherlock pulls out an identical packet, and holds it next to John's, "Looks like we're in this together, eh?"

A nod is his response, and Sherlock grins a wide, natural grin, as John replies, "More like stuck in a gluetrap with nothing to get us out."

They both burst into hysterical laughter as they walk down the street.

Until they both realise they've both enrolled in the Science club, and run off to it, swearing all the way.

 


	5. Chapter 5

It's been a week since John and Sherlock realised they took the same drugs, and they're currently out the back of the school, smoking and talking together, sharing experiences and asking questions.

They both are standing close to each other, far closer than most people would, about half an inch is the distance between their shoulders as they stand side by side, and John asks quietly, "How long have you been taking the pills?" by 'the pills' He means the green emotion emptiers that they both take.

Sighing, Sherlock responds, "Since I was thirteen, so five years, yeah, it ain't healthy, but fuck that, who needs health," he takes a long puff, and blows it out, "They reckon these drugs will kill us one day, but you know what? Screw them, I already accept death."

A temptation to lean his head against Sherlock's shoulder surges over John, but he restrains himself, instead, smoking in time with Sherlock, "Why do people fear death? Death is... Beautiful," John admits, feeling as if he's just let go of something slowly torturing him, "It's inevitable, a big windshield for us bugs on the road of life, no matter how much you try to escape it, you get splatted in the end."

A sharp laugh escapes them at the same time, and Sherlock replies, "Shit you could be a bloody great Greaser if you wanted to be," and he gently touches their legs together. John grins, feeling his cheeks dust a light red, as Sherlock continues, "Such a morbid look on life, I love it," his lips part slightly, and John looks away, feeling his cheeks grow hotter.

"Well, you really can't go through life wondering if there is any other purpose, the meaning of life is to die," he finishes the cigarette, and chucks it in the bin, and Sherlock gives him a confused look.

"When I saw you I thought you were nothing more than just another nerd, a blur, now I know you're not just that... You're actually rather complicated, and a drug addict," he pulls out the emotion drainers from his pocket, and pops one into his mouth, "I was told when I got these that they would make me happy."

Nodding, John mutters, "They don't though... They just take away the bad, leave you cold," he leans his head back, and pulls his own pack from his pocket, and pops his own pill into his mouth, "The effects are stronger if you take the entire packet," he informs Sherlock glumly, "But last for shorter periods..."

Tilting his head back as well, Sherlock sighs, "I made it better with sex," and John nearly has a heart attack as Sherlock pulls down his collar to show nail mark scars, "Violent. I always had violent partners," Sherlock informs, popping another pill in his mouth, "And boy, probably the strangest experience of my life."

Blushing harder, John murmurs, "I'm a virgin..." and Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

"Pardon?"

Embarrassed, John tugs on his shirt, "I've never had sex..." he covers his face, blushing furiously, "I know that sounds lame, but I just... Never found anyone who was interested."

Nodding, Sherlock falls into silence, and John follows suit, sensing that if he continued speaking he'd humiliate himself even further than he already has. The silence is comfortable, but with a hint of edge to it, so much to talk about, but so unsure of how to proceed. Thankfully, Sherlock pipes up.

"You're actually lucky," he mutters, arm brushing against John's, "I was stupid, I was lucky I didn't catch a disease the way I was going about, fucking people willy-nilly, acting as if it didn't affect anyone..." he finishes his cigarette, and runs his hand through his hair, arm brushing against John's again, as he continues, "The drugs made me not think about the consequences, and the morning after a few fucks I'd regret it, that was the best part about it, the way my mind snapped back and forth like a yo-yo."

John sighs, "It doesn't feel lucky to... Well, not have had sex. It makes the world seem to be mocking me. A failure," he spits the last word out bitterly, as if it has a bitter taste on his tongue. Tucking his hands into his pockets, John gives Sherlock a sad look, "I guess neither of us will understand how the other feels."

Shaking his head Sherlock replies, "Yeah, I don't think anyone can truly understand anyone else, though you can always try," and he glances at John's watch, "We should probably go home, otherwise your carer will go nuts. My brother is used to me going home late though."

Shrugging, John moves away from the wall, "You want to come over? Mrs Hudson will probably force you to eat a tonne of cake, but she wants to meet you," and Sherlock half  smiles, nodding at John.

"Sure, I'll come," he replies, before quickly adding, "I hope you have some rock records, please tell me you do!"

Rolling his eyes, John nods, "We have a couple, c'mon Holmes-" but he gets cut off by a sigh from Sherlock.

"We're friends, you can use my first name," Sherlock explains, "Alright John?" his voice lowers slightly in pitch as he says John's name, and John feels his body shake slightly.

Nodding, John replies, "Alright, Sherlock," and he swears his gut explodes in fluttery waves of nervousness, and his legs feel like they're going to collapse under his own weight.

Winking, Sherlock bows down jokingly, "Lead the way," and they both burst into laughter. John leading the way to his house.

Eventually, they find themselves in front of John's house, "Um, please don't mention the drainers or the cigarettes in front of Mrs Hudson, she doesn't like them very much," and he flashes Sherlock a small smile.

Shrugging and licking his lips, Sherlock replies airily, "Alright then, and I won't ask where she keeps the alcohol then, or where her medicine is," and John nods.

"I reckon she'd tell you where the medicine was, as long as you wanted to know for medical reasons," and he walks up to the door, sliding the key out of his pocket, calling loudly through the window, "Mrs Hudson, I'm home! I, er, brought a friend!" and he unlocks the door, walking in, and indicating to a coat rack, "She'll want you to take off your coat."

Huffing, Sherlock takes it off and place the coat on the rack, as he reaches up to place it, his shirt lifts up, revealing an alluring amount of skin. John turns away, feeling his cheeks turn a dusty red, and he waves his hand in a 'come on' motion, "Mrs Hudson is probably out in town, come on," and he walks into the kitchen, grabbing two beers out of the icebox, "She doesn't bother counting them."

Smirking, Sherlock replies, "You are bad deep down," and he slides up behind John, reaching over his shoulder and grabbing the beer, breathing on John's ear as he leans over his shoulder, "Hmm, it's intriguing," and he moves away, leaving a flustered John in his wake.

"Umm, yes, anyway, I'll show you to my room," and he walks upstairs, an intrigued Sherlock following behind him. Opening the door to his room, John quickly murmurs, "Umm, it's not exactly messy, or clean, umm, so yeah," and they both walk inside.

Laughing Sherlock replies, "This is completely spotless compared to my room," and he gently sits on the bed, "What music do you have?"

Walking over to the bookshelf, John grabs out a few vinyl records, "Umm, how about Elvis? I have others, but you seem like an Elvis guy."

Laughing, Sherlock leans back, "Yes, Elvis sounds great," and he closes his eyes as John plays a record, song cutting through the air smoothly, "I love this song," he murmurs, as Jailhouse Rock plays, and John quickly crosses the room, sitting next to Sherlock gently, as Sherlock hums along.

They sit like that for a while, John bouncing his foot up and down slightly for no reason. Sherlocks eyes open as John leans his head back, taking a sip of beer, and Sherlock takes a sip of his own, sighing, "Do you ever think of things that are generally not socially accepted?"

John hums gently, "I don't know, what do you mean, 'not socially accepted', do you mean, killing people, stuff like that?" the nonchalant way John says this catches Sherlock off guard, and he shakes his head.

"I mean, in terms of lovers, do you ever feel like doing things people would be disgusted by?" Sherlock asks, feeling the cool alcohol slide down his throat as he swigs his beer, "Kissing in public, being drunk while fucking, that kind of thing."

Sitting up slightly straighter, John replies, "Well, yeah, a lot of people do, there's no shame to thinking of these things, or doing them, each to their own," he shifts uncomfortably, eyes flicking from Sherlock to the floor, "There shouldn't be shame to it, anyway," and his breath hitches as Sherlock gives him a smouldering look, pupils blown wide.

"So there shouldn't be shame in wanting to pin down a friend and kiss their lips till they are moaning, no shame in wanting to ravish their neck and pleasure them in special ways, no shame in that?" the way Sherlock hisses these words makes John nearly moan aloud, instead, John takes another sip of beer, shrugging nonchalantly, as Sherlock shifts closer, eyes still burning, "No shame in that, right?"

Nearly squeaking from shock, John replies, "No shame in wanting things, Sherlock, none at all."

 


	6. Chapter 6

Downstairs, Mrs Hudson bursts through the door, "John?!" she calls up, "Are you home!?" and Sherlock smirks, giving John a look, as Mrs Hudson calls up, "Ooh~! You have company over, what a splendid leather jacket, it's almost like a trench coat style, you have excellent taste!"

Pulling an absolutely gorgeous face, Sherlock stands, tucking the empty bottles underneath John's bed, and he walks over to the door, poking his head out and giving Mrs Hudson a full charming smile, "Hello there, you must be Mrs Hudson, my name is Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, it is a pleasure to meet you and might I say that John is a great person," and John rolls his eyes, pinching his nose as Sherlock completely sways Mrs Hudson into liking him.

Mrs Hudson gives John a knowing look, "Good to see you are recovering after that nasty incident earlier, I'll go get you two some cake," and as she leaves, Sherlock stares are John questioningly, mouthing, 'What incident?'.

Sighing, John buries his face in his hands, "I fainted a few days ago and had to go to the hospital."

A snort escapes Sherlock, and John scowls, punching Sherlock on the arm, "It's not funny!!!" he growls, and Sherlock bursts into laughter, flustering John, and making Mrs Hudson call up worriedly.

After Sherlock finishes laughing, and the red slowly fades from John's cheeks, Sherlock replies, "Yes, everything is alright Mrs Hudson! Just fine!" and he gasps as John wickedly pinches him on the arm, giving him a mumpy look. Sherlock makes a mocking kissy face at John, and they both laugh quietly.

Mrs Hudson trots back upstairs, holding two plates of cake with one fork, she doesn't seem to notice the lack of other fork, and wanders back downstairs, Sherlock chuckles, "I have an idea," and he sits down on the bed, placing a small chunk of chocolate cake on his forehead, "I'm gonna try getting it in my mouth without using my hands."

Laughing, John sits next to Sherlock, eating his cake sensibly with the fork, "You know you could just pick it up with your fingers?" but Sherlock has already slid it down to his cheek, and finally it lands in his mouth. John facepalms, "Or not, you know, you could eat like that. Don't listen to common sense," and Sherlock grins cheekily at John.

Spearing another chunk of cake, John begins lifting it to his mouth, when Sherlock leans forward and steals it off the fork, enticing a slap on the arm from John, "Oi! That's my cake!" and Sherlock sticks his tongue out, cake resting nimbly on it. He gives John a challenging look.

"Try taking it with only your teeth," he says, well, tries to say, it's almost muffled to the point of not being able to understand, but John figures it out, and laughs, leaning forward and quickly taking it back with his teeth, earning an impressed look from Sherlock, "You're the first person who has been able to do that, without kissing me!" he exclaims under his breath, and John pulls a triumphant pose.

"Who needs a feeble kiss when you have the power of facial motor control!" John jokes, and Sherlock stares at him, "What?" John asks, feeling his cheeks heat up, and Sherlock boops his nose.

"Just wanted to see your reaction!"

"... Dick."

"Ah ah ah, no swearing Mr. Good Boy," Sherlock teases, tickling John's side, who bites his lip to keep himself from laughing, and Sherlock smirks, "Ooh~, you are ticklish!" and John gasps, squirming as Sherlock jabs John's sides, and they end up having the cake left forgotten as John gets pinned to the bed, trying to stop laughing as Sherlock mercilessly tickles John. Eventually, John tugs on Sherlock's collar, face red and out of breath. (NO DON'T YOU DARE GO THERE)

"Puh-please st-stop!" he gasps, and Sherlock pouts, giving John a sad look, and moving away, no longer pinning John to the bed, and John frowns, "Sher?" but Sherlock merely picks up his cake and finishes it off, leaving a confused looking John to finish his own cake. Sherlock runs a hand through his hair, and stands, John suddenly feels empty, the loss of contact making its impact, "Sherlock...?"

"I'll take your plate," he replies, bending over and picking up the plate, looking up with depressed eyes at John, "I think I may be going home soon," and John frowns, and snatches Sherlock's hand as he tries to walk away, making Sherlock turn and raise an eyebrow, "What is it, Watson!?" he suddenly snaps, making John shrink away, letting go of Sherlock's hand.

"You can call me John..." he breathes softly, "Please Sherlock, tell me what's wrong!" but Sherlock starts walking away again, making John jump up and scowl, "Sherlock!" he reaches forward, grabbing the back of Sherlock's shirt, and tugging the taller man back, causing them both the tumble onto the bed, plates dropped to the floor, with Sherlock pinning John to the bed again.

A guilty look crosses Sherlock's face, and he goes as if to leave, but he is shocked by a sudden gasp from John, "Sher..." and he realises that their crotches are grinding together. Sherlock smirks, leaning forward and grinding downwards, and John moans quietly, "Sherlock..." before blushing profusely, "Sherlock, Mrs Hudson is still home!" he hisses loudly, but Sherlock leans in blowing a soft breath over John's neck, and John whispers, "Wait, I hear her coming..."

So they hold that position, both of them breathing slowly and quietly, before Mrs Hudson knocks on the door, "Are you two alright in there? Sherlock, a man called Mycroft is at the door for you," Sherlock curses quietly, climbing off John, and quickly smoothing down his hair, John does the same, and they walk over to the door.

Under his breath, Sherlock murmurs, "Of course my brother decides to interrupt, I swear he can see through walls," and John merely nods, too shocked to speak.

'We nearly kissed!' he thinks to himself, 'We where grinding! Holy cow!' and he finds the blush on his cheeks spread, and his brain goes out the window as he places a hand on his lips, imagining those cupid brow lips skimming over his. Sherlock opens the door, and ushers John to pass through, pinching his arse as he passes through. John blushes more and they both walk downstairs, as John's cheeks return to normal.

An important looking man is waiting at the doorway, chatting with Mrs Hudson, while holding an umbrella loosely in his right hand, as Sherlock comes into his view, John immediately assesses them both. Mycroft is obviously older, and his hair is straight, a stark contrast to Sherlock's curls. Mycroft is also wearing a smart vest and long sleeved shirt, along with pressed pants. Sherlock stiffens, nodding curtly to Mycroft, "Hello brother, I thought you had an important meeting today, that was to go on for the rest of the week."

A sharp look crosses Mycroft's face, "I am, but it has been postponed," and Sherlock smirks, but it drops as Mycroft continues, "For a month, and mother called, telling me to keep a close eye on you," John tenses up, recognising a tense situation when he's stuck in the middle of one, "And father asked how the, how do I put it, 'ridiculous', 'pointless', investigating dream is coming along. His words not mine," and Sherlock scowls, tightening his hand into a fist, as he grabs his coat from the rack, and turns to John, eyes softening.

"Hey, it was cool to hang out here, we have to do it again sometime," and he leaves, Mycroft swinging his umbrella back and forth. John finds his eyes linger to Sherlock's slim legs, and trail up to his arse, 'Damn... It's gonna be a long afternoon,' John thinks to himself, before going upstairs to his room.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The drive back to Sherlock's house starts tense, as said male's fingers twitch, and he chews his lip, "You interrupted my social life, yet again, brother. By the way, I can tell your diet has failed, which you don't need by the way, because of the cake crumbs on your vest, and the icing on your top lip," Mycroft smiles grimly, as Sherlock quietly apologises, "Sorry."

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft replies, "Nothing to be sorry for, also, I believe you had fun with your new friend, a sister perhaps? But his face was slightly flushed too, and his pupils were dilated every time he looked at you, which was a lot," Sherlock blushes, as Mycroft dissects the situation, "Which makes me realise that you swing both ways. No worries brother, I am currently questioning," and Sherlock lets loose a real smile.

But the smile is short lived, "Mycroft, you said mother called," and the atmosphere goes tense again, "Why would she ask you to keep a close eye on me?" and Mycroft sighs softly, as Sherlock studies him with questioning eyes, "I'm guessing it is something important by the way you keep on nervously tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, and by the way you have just stopped, self concious of the habit, and," Sherlock pauses, before sighing, "Let me guess, she thinks I'm taking the pills again."

A curt nod is his response, as Mycroft tightens his hands on the steering wheel, before pulling over, turning off the engine and groaning in annoyance, "I know that you are taking them Sherlock, it's easy, you were much further out of it when you first left the house, but now you are more alert, you're palms are sweaty and your eyes are flicking to me constantly," they both lapse into silence.

A clap of thunder is heard, and a drop of rain lands on the windscreen, "We should probably go home," Sherlock murmurs, as Mycroft turns back on the engine, "Sorry for being a jerk Mycroft," his voice has lost all power, and Mycroft quickly pulls the car back onto the road, as Sherlock tries to make himself look small and insignificant, and Mycroft gently places a shaking hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"You won't flip out on me, will you?" he asks softly, as Sherlock takes in a shuddering breath, "I'll give you some of my cake when we get home, how about that?" and Sherlock snorts quietly at his brother, before fiddling with his jacket, as Mycroft taps the steering wheel gently, "Do you want the radio on?"

Smiling, Sherlock replies, "Yes, please Mycroft," and a rock song pops up on the radio. Lulled into a sense of calm, they both remain in silence for the rest of the trip. In fact, Sherlock eventually shuts his eyes, falling into a peaceful dose.

~Timeskip~

Sherlock wakes up as soon as Mycroft pulls the car up into their driveway, their semi-large house looming over them, "Aah, you're awake."

Nodding, Sherlock replies softly, "Yeah, I am, I see the rain still hasn't let up," Mycroft chuckles, rolling his eyes at Sherlock, as he whispers in a faux shocked way, "I don't believe it, your umbrella is actually needed," and they both laugh, uncaring for the looks the neighbours are giving them. They both walk inside, rain making a dull, roaring noise on the roof, and Sherlock chuckles, "So, how about some of that cake?"

~~~

Sighing, John buries his head under his pillow as rain pounds against the roof over his head, listening to his rock records with a sad smile on his face, before closing his eyes as a dull ache pounds in his temples, before sitting bolt upright as Mrs Hudson knocks softly on his door, "John, Greg is on the phone for you," and he rolls out of bed, onto the floor, before clambering up in a tangle of limbs.

As soon as he's picked up the receiver from the table, Greg starts talking animatedly into his ear, causing a groan of pain from John, "Slow down Greg, seriously."

"Oh, sorry John, but anyway, I need your help. Do you... Think it's wrong to love someone of the same gender?"

All the breath leaves John as he thinks back to the grinding he and Sherlock shared earlier, "W-well, I think that it is different, but not... Wrong, as you put it," he breathes out, and Greg sighs with relief on the other side.

"I'm so glad you think that, because I think I like a guy. I saw him earlier this day-" and as Greg starts describing him, John realises instantly that he is talking about Mycroft.

"Greg, I think I know that guy, do you have his name?" John asks down the phone line, twirling the cord in his fingers.

If John could see Greg, Greg would probably be grinning and nodding, "His name is Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes, we met at a little coffee shop, earlier today, at lunch, and he came up to me, asked if I wanted some cake, we had a good chat and-" John tunes out the rest of the sentence, already feeling a yawn building up, before getting startled back to the conversation, "-Wait, how do you know him John?"

"He's the brother of that greaser I hang out with," John replies, feeling angst settle into the pit of his stomach, as Greg groans on the other side, "Hey, he isn't like the other Greasers! Sherlock-"

"On first name basis with a freak already?" a different voice calls on the line, and John sighs heavily.

"Hello Donovan, if you'd fuck off already that would be appreciated," John growls into the phone, closing his eyes and preparing for the screech of angry retorts she normally flings back.

A huff is his only response, along with the click of her heels as she moves away, until he can no longer hear them through the phone.

After John talks with Greg for a while, Greg eventually hangs up, leaving John to his thoughts again.

And right now, John's thoughts aren't the best.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, John grabs the keys for his car, raising an eyebrow at Mrs Hudson, "Can I?"

Sighing, Mrs Hudson nods, before handing him a paper bag, "Okay, don't forget your lunch," and kisses him softly on the cheek, "Have a nice day," and John nods, walking out the door with a soft smile on his face. He climbs into the front seat of his car, John is about to start the engine when Mrs Hudson rushes out, "Sherlock just rang, asking if you could go pick him up, he left the address!" she hands John a small piece of paper, and John grins at her.

"Alright Mrs Hudson," and he starts the engine, slowly pulling out of the driveway, checking the address, and going in the direction of Sherlock's house. He goes slow, until out of sight of Mrs Hudson. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he slams his foot down on the accelerator, speeding across the road as fast as he can.

Laughter bursts from his lips as freedom takes hold, and before long, he's out the front of Sherlock's house. John stares up at the huge manor in shock, before killing the engine, opening his door, and blushing as he remembers yesterday's incident. He suddenly realises that he has no idea how to proceed with talking to Sherlock. Does he act as if it never happened?

The door opens, and Sherlock walks out, spotting John and grinning, "John!" and he rushes over, clambering into the car and sitting in the passenger seat, "Thankyou for picking me up, I missed the bus and really didn't want to walk," he leans his head back, "So..."

Fingers tightening on the steering wheel, John mutters, "Sherlock..." but Sherlock is fiddling with his coat, pulling the collar up and checking it in the mirror, he tries again, "Sherlock," but he is unheard.

A sigh escapes John, "Sherlock!" and Sherlock finally looks at him, and gives him a worried look, as John's breathing turns ragged, "What am I to you!?"

Without even thinking, Sherlock replies,"A friend," and John feels his heart shatter slowly in his chest. Did Sherlock even remember what he did to him? Pursing his lips, John's foot presses harder onto the accelerator, as Sherlock quietly whispers, "But that's only because you don't want anything else."

Gaping, John stares hard at Sherlock, bringing the car to a sudden stop, "What do you mean, I don't want anything else!? God Sherlock you're such a prick!" and he slumps his head against the wheel, "I... Don't know what you want and that makes me hold back..."

Feeling a hand travelling up his leg, John looks up to see Sherlock leaning over him, "I... Want everything from you John... I want to know the exact face you make when you're embarrassed, your sleeping habits, what foods you like..." John gasps as Sherlock trails his hand over his crotch, before running it back down his leg, "What face you make when you orgasm..."

A blush trails over John's cheeks, before he reaches up, tugging on one of Sherlock's curls, "Will I get to know all that about you...?" his voice drops in pitch, as Sherlock nods, ducking in for a kiss. Sherlock's cupid-brow lips open slightly, and John whimpers, pulling away softly, "I... Don't want to be another fuck."

Reaching up, Sherlock strokes a strand of hair out of John's face, "You won't be... I promise, do you believe me?"

Sighing, John turns forward, starting the engine with a frown, "Honestly, I really want to, but I don't know Sherlock. This all could be us coming down from a high on drugs," and they drive to school, Sherlock looking out the window moodily as a song comes on the radio.

As they arrive at school, Sherlock climbs out of the car, growling into John's ear as he leaves, "I'll see you later," and John melts a little inside, chest clenching and breathing quickening, while Sherlock walks off, tight pants hugging his gracefully moving legs. Cursing, John locks his car, looking around worriedly, what if someone had seen?

But the car park is as empty as a desert, and John sighs with relief, "Alright, calm down John," he murmurs to himself, "Your jumpy, that's all," he starts to take out some pills, before stopping himself, "No, I want to have a clear mind next time I see him," he mutters to himself. He gets out of the car, closing the door behind him with an elegant thuck and walks into his first class.

~~~

First break rolls around, and John quickly walks over to his usual spot, making sure not to get in the way of anyone. As he sits, his mind flashes back to the kiss he and Sherlock shared, making him blush, before quickly clearing his mind of the image. It was harder to do than normal, due to the lack of drugs in his system, but he could handle it... Until withdrawal kicks in.

Burning pain sears through his forehead, and John pinches his brow as the headache burns his senses into oblivion, his eyes blur, and mouth goes dry, grasping for the pills, John swallows a few, feeling his motor control return to normal, and eyes clear into crystal clarity. Looking up, he spots Sherlock across the room from him, draped across the lap of a girl. Jealousy, hot and envious courses a poisoned path through his veins, and anger thumps in his heart.

As tempting as crossing the room and slapping the girl in the face is, John resists, common sense kicking him in the face. Sighing, John looks away from the lewd way the girl drapes her fingers across Sherlock's chest, and the pouting of her sultry lips... John practically is growling, and stands, dodging the crowd and making his way to the toilets, he doesn't notice Sherlock get up and follow.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any characters you recognise from fandoms. I merely an using them to create a story for your entertainment.


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